A New Perspective
by BlindAssassinUK
Summary: Sometimes, it's not about the right timing, the right circumstances. Sometimes, a new perspective is all you need. Set in S4. *Updates unlikely to happen. Sorry.*
1. All That Has Changed

_**AN: I'm going to start with an apology. For those reading my Bones fic, I'm sorry it's been some time since I last posted an update. I'll be honest, I've fallen out of 'like' with the show of late, and that's put a serious crimp in my ability to write about the characters that I love.**_

_**Fickle woman that I am, I recently discovered the fantastic show that is "Castle", and suddenly I feel like writing again. So I did just that.**_

_**This chapter is for the 'Castle Collective' (actually, I just made that name up). But they know who they are.**_

_**And thank you to JSQ79 for the read-through. Who knew that Americans don't use the term "lock-up"? Really, it's a minefield!**_

_**SN: This story is set some months after the Season 3 finale.**_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One: All that has Changed<strong>

**Rick Castle** watched as daylight cut across the study floor of his apartment. Inching closer, the light revealed each strand of the expensive tan carpet and specks of dust and errant fibres floated, swirling randomly in the air. He watched through barely open eyes as the misshapen rectangle of light touched first the fingers of his right hand and then crept up his arm. He wasn't to know that the light, when it climbed higher, couldn't penetrate the ugly shadows staining his face, because he'd long stopped hurting. He welcomed its warmth at first, until the light became too bright and closing his eyes didn't help. Then he wished for cold, for dark. He kept on wishing his wish until the sun sunk orange low against the skyscrapers and the city pulsed a little less strong.

Now, he watched the lengthening shadows as the light receded, swallowed into the indiscriminate ink blanket of evening. He didn't fight the darkness when he felt his body grow cold. What would be the point, knowing what he knew?

A whole day had passed. No one was coming, at least not in time.

He could hear himself breathe in the occasional pauses in the rhythmic traffic noise. And he wondered when he would stop. Would he feel his life leaving his body? Would it hurt? Would he be aware of the end? Or didn't it happen like that? Maybe, despite every certainty that it would find you, death was always a surprise.

xxx

Three Days Earlier

The moving head multi-coloured disco lights trailed across the packed dance floor and swept up the walls of the nightclub and then onto the ceiling. Just when he thought he'd worked out the pattern of the lights, the order changed. He was beginning to rue his decision to tag along to the club with NYPD's Finest – the place was jammed, hot as hell, full of people much younger than him (which lately seemed to piss him off more than ever), and he had the mother of all headaches.

It wasn't fun. It felt like work. Until it didn't.

His eyes widened as a blue laser scanned the crowd and picked out the glorious figure of his partner as she moved in time to the pounding synthesized music. He cocked his head to the side and continued to stare. Beckett could move. She was in total control of her body, her movements, and even though he knew that she was keeping a steady eye on their suspect, she appeared to be lost to the music, as he was most assuredly lost in her.

Bodies cut across his field of vision. Colours and shapes flashed, merged and then split apart, but he only had eyes for her. How did women move their bodies like that? Her movements were sinuous, sexy and hypnotic. It was an effortless, coordinated display of sensual, female magic and he didn't care that he was staring. He watched until she was lost again to the crowd.

Then he turned his attention back to the generous bar that wrapped around the east wall of nightclub and raised his hand; one of the barmen caught the action and walked over.

"What can I get you?"

"Another coke, thanks."

"Gee, just a coke, huh?" The barman shrugged and then dug around in some ice with a little more vigour than was necessary.

Clearly, the man thought him cheap. The truth was that he would kill for a double shot of scotch, but he was under strict orders from Beckett to stick to soda. He shot the other man an exaggerated smile and reached for his wallet. His fingers danced over the thick stack of $100 bills, and he made a point of tilting his wallet so that the asshole could see that he could afford to buy his entire stock. He slid a bill from the stack, folded it lengthways and handed it over. The barman quickly returned with his change and said no more.

He took a sip of the iced, sugary, and oh-so-virgin drink, shook his head at the unfairness of it all and scanned the crowd for another glimpse of Beckett.

Javier Esposito rounded the corner at the back entrance to the nightclub and narrowly avoided crashing into the assortment of garbage and recycling bins lined up next to the doorway. He was off balance, clumsy and slow. He needed to get some shut-eye. They'd pulled a twenty-hour shift trying to track down this jackhole, and he knew they were all feeling it. But, with Jimmy now in their sights, maybe they could get this whole thing wrapped up in the next couple of hours.

"Yo, Ryan. You still got eyes on him?" Esposito pushed the hidden earpiece in deeper so that he could catch his partner's reply.

"Beckett's about to make a move on him. Stand by."

Rain trickled down the back of his shirt collar, and he put the urge to wipe it away to the back of his mind. It itched like mad but lowering his aim wasn't the wisest move at that moment. A few more seconds passed, and despite knowing better, he allowed his arms to relax a little. But then Ryan's voice pulled him back to his previous state of high alert.

"She's got him. But a couple of his guys are headed your way! You got that?"

"Got it."

He steadied himself. Two uniforms on his left flattened themselves by the doorway, also poised to take down anyone busting through the back door. They didn't have to wait long.

"NYPD. Hands in the air! NOW!"

The two men who came charging through the door pulled up sharply when they saw the barrel of the assault rifle aimed in their direction. Hands quickly shot into the air, and Esposito breathed a sigh of relief as the two men pleaded with him not to shoot. He waited until they were cuffed and then he lowered his weapon, more than grateful that he didn't have to use it.

"Esposito?"

"Yeah...we got 'em, Ryan. See you out front."

Kevin Ryan watched, gun still in hand, as Beckett grabbed a fistful of material and pulled Jimmy Gantz, who was sprawled face-down on a booze-drenched table, roughly to his feet.

"Do you understand your rights as they've been read to you?" She said clearly.

Jimmy Gantz, drug-dealer, pimp and perennial bad guy, nodded, and she shoved him in Ryan's general direction. "Get him booked and set him up in interview room one, okay?"

"Sure thing."

"I'll meet you back at the station. I, um...need to get changed first."

Ryan smiled and purposely maintained eye contact as she reeled off a few more orders. His boss was a beautiful woman, and right now she was wearing six-inch heels, a figure-hugging, short black dress and more make-up than she needed. Yeah, he wasn't looking down.

"Before you go...you seen Castle? He'll need a ride back."

"He was by the bar the last time I saw him."

"Did I hear someone mention my name?"

Castle sauntered over to the small group of uniformed officers and detectives, glass still in hand. Ryan noticed that he didn't take the trouble to look Beckett in the face. In fact, the other man was looking everywhere but.

"Fun's over, Castle. You can grab a ride with Ryan back to the 12th?"

"What about you?"

"Me? I need to change. I'll see you back there."

"Why would you need to change?"

"I would have thought that were obvious."

Castle smiled and made sure to hold her gaze. He'd been worried about her (he was always worried about her), but she was okay. He nodded his understanding and then bit down on the words that threatened to spill out. Instead, and he knew predictably, he offered a wry comment about how she was more likely to get a quick confession if she interrogated Gantz in her high heels and "sexy 'em up dress".

He watched as she rolled her eyes, content for now to play her part in their well-established routine. He knew that she understood why he had looked her up and down as he'd approached. He wasn't checking her out. He was checking her over.

Everything was different now.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks for reading. :)<strong>


	2. The Tip of the Iceberg

**_AN: Thank you for reading, reviewing and alerting!_ **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Two: The Tip of the Iceberg<br>**

**Kate Beckett **pulled on a clean pair of jeans and slipped her favourite black high-heeled shoes onto her tired feet. She hadn't gotten around to doing any ironing over the weekend and so opted for a light grey sweater, as it hid the creases a little better than her shirts. The black dress - the one that made Castle open his eyes real wide - lay squashed at the bottom of the plastic bag she'd been using in place of a laundry hamper. Now she looked like a cop again.

She was twenty-two hours into a seemingly endless shift, and she prayed to the universe that Jimmy Gantz would co-operate, and quick. She was so tired that every time she moved her head too fast, her vision would blur, and it was as though her brain was struggling to catch up with the movement. Her neck and shoulders burned with tension and all she wanted was to slip into a too-hot bath and let the foamy water work its magic. Spying her key card, she slipped it into her pocket and then made sure to check her messages before leaving for the 12th.

She smiled as she heard her father's voice. Despite her hurry, she let the message play out until the end. _"Call me, Katie. I don't care what time you get home tonight...you call me, okay?"_ Reaching for her gun, she slotted it firmly into the shoulder holster, which she had now taken to wearing all day, and stepped into the carpeted hallway.

She would call her father the second she got home; it was likely to be morning by then anyhow. But first she had to break Gantz.

* * *

><p>The 12th Precinct <p>

"We got 'em primed for you, Beckett." Esposito said as he passed her the file they had compiled on Jimmy "The Joker" Gantz.

"Thanks." She said not looking up from the list of charges she was hoping to lay against the man sitting in interview room one.

"So, we pulled his financials, and Vice just tipped us off of about his operation in Brooklyn. That alone should have him sweating and begging us to let him deal."

Ryan sat down on the edge of his desk and flipped through his copy of the incriminating financial data they had dug up in the time it had taken her to get changed and back to the station. "Also, last week, two payments of $10,000 were transferred into Gantz's bank. We traced the money, and it originated from a bank account registered to a Ben Miller."

"And Miller is?"

"Missing. Blowing in the wind. We need Gantz to tell us who was paying him to get a hold of that stuff."

Beckett let the word roll around in her mind. "Stuff". The description fell so far short of conveying the nightmare they had uncovered in Gantz's garage earlier than day. But calling it by its proper name sent the kind of chills down her back that she could go a lifetime without feeling again.

"You ready, boss?"

She wasn't, but knew she didn't have time to get ready. Running her hand over the hilt of the gun fastened close to her heart, she turned and headed over to the interview room. Castle had been ordered by their new captain to stay away. She wasn't sure if this would make the interrogation easier or not. Esposito was certainly no slouch when it came to getting people to tell them what they honestly believed they could hold onto forever, but she knew she did a better job with Castle by her side.

Ryan watched them go. He noticed that Esposito let her get a step or two ahead, and he knew that this went against his partner's every instinct. Ever since the shooting they had done everything they could to let Beckett do what she did best. What she did better than all of them. But it wasn't easy. Their instinct had been to push ahead of her when first entering a crime scene, or to kick in a door and quickly barge their way through before she had time to beat them to it. But the one and only time they tried the latter, she'd railed on them when they made it back to the station. And so they tried harder. Tried to get back to the way it was before she nearly bled out in front of them. They weren't there yet, but agreed that this was something she never needed to know.

"Mr Gantz. You know why you're here, so how about we don't waste any more of your precious time, and you tell us what we need to know?"

"What is it that you need to know, Detective?" The balding man in front of her was all muscle and no height. The collar of his garish shirt was pulled tight across his reddened skin and she wondered how he could stop himself from yanking the material away from his neck.

"I'm not in the mood for games, Mr Gantz. Now, you've seen the warrant. You know what we went looking for in your garage."

"It looked like a bunch of numbers and symbols on a page, honey."

"Okay, what about I spell it out for you in words that you will understand."

"You can try."

"At 8:10 this morning, following an anonymous tip-off, NYPD raided your garage and discovered a steel storage container. Inside that container, we found two vials containing Anthrax toxin protein components. "

Esposito leaned forward menacingly. "What are you doing with that stuff, Jimmy?"

"I got no clue what you guys are talkin' about. Not one frigging clue."

"Look, you can make this much easier on yourself if you tell us why you have it in your possession."

"Hey, A-Rod, do I look like a fucking chemist to you?"

"Nah, Jimmy, but you do look like a guy that would store that kinda shit for money."

Beckett slid a computer printout across the table towards their suspect. "This is a copy of your recent bank account records. We went back over the past six months, and it would appear that you've raked in some serious cash recently."

"So? Making money from legitimate business isn't a crime, last time I checked. In fact, seeing as how we've all been screwed over these past few years, I'd say it's a fucking economic miracle."

"Last week, two deposits, each totalling $10,000 were wired into your account. Tell us, is business really that good. And while you're busy concocting your bullshit story, why don't you tell us what business it is you're into these days."

"I got nothing more to say." Jimmy Gantz flicked his eyes from Beckett's face and stared at the printout. He remembered what he had been told. He just had to stick to orders and he'd make out just fine.

"Who's Ben Miller, Mr Gantz?" Beckett persisted, even though she knew that they weren't going to get an answer. 

_Silence…_

Esposito leaned across the desk again. His face now only inches from their mute suspect.

"Getting mixed up in this type of shit isn't exactly in your wheelhouse, Jimmy. You normally stick to selling crack to school kids and renting out your girls for chump change. You see where we're going with this? You're small time to us, an annoyance, nothing more. But this? This is a whole different world for you, and that gives us concern. Concern that you're in way over your empty head and also because that stuff in your garage is going to bring the Feds to your door, and ours."

_Silence…_

"Mr Gantz, I can assure you that delaying the inevitable, jerking us around won't pay off. Tell us now what you know, or the Feds will come in here and make you talk. You think you know what trouble is? You don't have a damn clue. So, if your liberty means anything to you, tell us who Ben Miller is."

_Silence…  
><em>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Thanks for reading. :)<strong>  
><em>


	3. Certain Truths

**Chapter Three: Certain Truths**

_You don't know it yet, but your life is coming to an end. _

_And lives of the people you love? Those are also subject to the same mortal certainty. _

_The one simple certainty that I know you go to every length to pretend doesn't exist, does, of course, exist. I'm going to prove that to you._

_Nothing you can and will do will make a difference, because even if you sidestep me this time, I'll be back for you. I'll come back around. And maybe next time it will be worse for you. Next time, it might not be painless, quick and unconscious. Next time, you might bear witness. _

_So run if you like. Hide, if the challenge ignites something in you. But KNOW what is certain._

_You will die. _

_I'll admit, I prefer if you cower. It shows me that you're really paying attention and that you're blind to anything but fear. If I believed in prayer, that's what I'd pray for. _

_YOU - I have your poison. You. You. YOU._

_I am CERTAINTY. AND NOW I'M COMING FOR YOU._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks for reading. :) <strong>


	4. Home from Home

**Chapter Four: Home from Home**

**Kate Beckett** wrapped a towel round her head and grabbed her robe from the back of the bathroom door. She'd padded through to the bedroom come living area and searched under a pile of paperwork for the room service menu she knew she'd find there. She'd been living in the hotel for the past month, and it had gotten to the stage where she really missed having a kitchen of her own. She loved to cook. Loved that when she did she felt closer to her mother. As time necessarily moved on, those moments when she could remember her mother as a flesh and blood person grew more elusive. Mostly, she thought of her in the abstract. But when she cooked, she swore she sometimes felt her mother's guiding hand over hers as she stirred a batter or blended cocoa into her favourite chocolate cake mixture.

The room service menu offered no surprises. She ordered the Caesar Salad with shrimp, complete with an extra serving of dressing. People never poured enough of that stuff on. If she wanted to actually taste the lettuce, she wouldn't have ordered it to begin with. She placed her cell back on the desk and tossed the menu back onto the pile of disorganised work papers and personal correspondence - the latter had been re-routed from Josh's apartment, to her father's place, and now to the precinct. Searching out a pair of pajamas from the 3-drawer chest next to the double bed, she slipped on the cool material, which now unfortunately smelled like slightly damp wood and musty books, and fell into the oversized armchair, which sat facing the too-small TV.

Her robe sagged open at the front, and she quickly covered up. She only looked at her scar when she replaced the large, spongy square dressing over the centre of her chest. Aside from that, she pretended it wasn't there. And some days she could almost believe it. Her energy levels were back to normal, she was strong now, capable of looking after herself, and ever-so-determined to move on. Moving into the hotel, being alone again, was the next logical step.

Of course, her Dad hadn't wanted her to leave, and Castle offered to put her up "indefinitely", but it was time. And because she made a cop's salary, she could only afford crappy if she intended to stay there until she found a permanent home. And "crappy" meant no hot food to order after 11pm, no on-site parking, and a cleaning service that left no sign night after night of having cleaned anything. Yesterday, she picked up a bottle of multi-surface cleaner and a roll of paper towels and did the job herself. It also meant a fifteen-minute walk through a less than safe part of town to the subway, pretty much constant noise from the room above, and a tub that she climbed out of feeling dirtier than when she got in. The Plaza it wasn't.

Indefinitely… _Indefinitely?_ What did that mean? She'd been mulling over Castle's words for weeks now, and she still didn't have a clue. He was just being kind. Just being the kind of man she now understood him to be. And then there was the guilt. His guilt that threatened to drive them apart faster than any squandered romantic opportunity ever had. And so she'd declined his offer. She told him that she had somewhere to go. He didn't push, and she didn't elaborate.

That's how they did things.

But there was something about the way he'd asked. Something that told her that maybe she should have paused.

xxx

A knock sounded against the door, and she tightened her robe, ensuring that it closed fully across her chest, and went to sign for her dinner.

Later, she turned out the bedside light and scooted down the bed in an effort to get comfortable. She found if she avoided the middle of the mattress, she could manage to sleep the night through. And she needed to sleep.

Today had kicked her ass. The stakeout at the nightclub hadn't helped matters. Why didn't people come quietly, especially when confronted with concrete evidence that they were outnumbered, and then some? But, no, their suspect had wanted to fight the odds. And when she stepped into his path, he'd wanted to fight her. He lost. Of course, had she of known that this would be the easy part of her day she would have taken more time to enjoy it. As it was, grappling with a steroid-loving, drug-dealing pimp was the very least of her worries, the very least of their collective worry.

The FBI was leading now, but she knew it was only a matter of time before Homeland Security came in and swept them all aside. As it stood, her team at the 12th were relegated to photocopying duty as far as the Gantz case was concerned. Like before, a slick haircut in a tailored suit had come in and taken over. Within the same hour, the suit had multiplied, and now the precinct was crawling with men in black - and not the kind that caused Castle to get all excited.

She closed her eyes against the much too-bright room. Trying to sleep in the middle of the day just felt wrong. She may be physically exhausted but her brain knew something was amiss. Pulling the covers up over her head, she breathed deeply and tried to block out the world.

He was out there, the man that wanted to destroy them. And she was coming for him. She just needed time, time and a little help.


	5. Default Position

_**AN: Thanks to everyone who's been reading, alerting and reviewing. **_

_**By way of some clarification: Kate is staying at a hotel because I wrote the chapter before "Rise" aired and I wasn't sure if the apartment we saw in Season 3 was hers or if it belonged to Josh. So in my story, for now, she's 'between' apartments. Also, the chapter before last was told from the perspective of this story's obligatory 'bad guy' – someone you'll be hearing from more as we continue.**_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five: Default Position<strong>

Rick Castle sat in the back of the yellow cab and scanned his recent call list. He found the one he was looking for near the bottom of the extensive run of numbers. He dialled, and allowed himself a sigh of relief as he was immediately connected to voicemail.

"Gina, its Rick...Richard. Look, I got your message, and now is not a good time for me. I know I said I'd give you with a clean draft by the end of the month, but I need more time. It's been...it's been difficult here, and the book is going to have to take a backseat for a while. I'll explain more when we speak. I'm sorry. I know this makes your life harder, but I'm not going to be able to come through this time, so I'm giving you fair warning. I have to go now, but I'll call you later. Or you call me… Bye."

The cab ploughed into another pothole and he was jerked forward. It would appear that his driver cared nothing for passenger comfort, and even sped up before diving into holes that caused his teeth rattle in his head. He ended the call, instinctively using his free hand to brace himself against the sharp forward motion. This time, he purposely caught the driver's eye in the rear view mirror, and shot him his best "forget-about-your-tip" look. God, Gina was going to be beyond pissed, but that was the very least of his worries. Vying for top position at the moment were his continued efforts to steer Beckett away from digging into her Mother's case and investigating and doing what he could to help uncover why Jimmy Gantz had Anthrax toxin in his garage.

What made a person want to destroy the city that was home to them? What would engender such indiscriminate hatred? Or maybe that was the point – it wasn't so indiscriminate. New York had a pulse, and if you wanted to strike at its heart, you struck down the people that afforded it life. He handed over $20 to the distracted driver and stepped out of the cab, careful to wrap his coat tightly around him to avoid it being caught by the wind and wiping against the dirty spray of water that covered the entire side of the car. Almost without exception he hated rain. It was only when the sun's warm reflection made the wet sidewalk sparkle that he appreciated that it could bestow beauty.

xxx

The 12th was buzzing. He was forced to take a step back towards the entrance as two officers jogged past him and then barrelled their way through the front door. He spied Ryan at his desk, but Esposito and Beckett weren't in their usual places. He made his way over and waited until the detective ended his call.

"Do we know any more?"

"Nothing useful. And heads up – the Feebs aren't calling the shots anymore. Homeland Security assumed point during the night and CDC have joined the team."

Ryan's desk phone rang, and the other man reached out quickly and snapped up the receiver.

"Ryan".

Castle backed away, giving him room to do his job, and walked the short distance to Beckett's desk. Someone had taken his chair away (he wondered idly if Gates has ordered its removal – as just one in a growing number of unsubtle hints at his temporary position within the team) and so he sat down in her seat. His knees skimmed the underside of her desk, but he left the seat position where it was – he knew his life wouldn't be worth living if he fiddled with it.

The diagonal run of wooden Russian Dolls he'd given her looked up at him, he believed with some measure of expectation. He would disappoint them. Jimmy Gantz had been transferred into State custody, but the FBI hadn't managed to prise any more information from him. It seemed that once he was done talking to Beckett and Esposito, he was done talking, period. The last Castle heard, their old 'friend' Agent Fallon had been recalled from a training exercise in D.C. and would take over the interrogation. He found it impossible to summon much in the way of sympathy for Gantz for what he knew would come. Sometimes, when you were offered no other option, you had to fight fire with fire.

As the minutes ticked on, he wondered where she was. He'd got a text from her at 5am that morning, telling him that she had just made it to the precinct. He'd immediately replied that he would meet her there within the hour. Now, it was 6:40, and she was nowhere to be seen. He decided to waste a little more time, and pulling out his iPhone, he responded to a few emails and then browsed the Richard Castle website, checking up on reviews of the latest Derek Storm graphic novel. They were uniformly positive. But he couldn't summon the will to bask in his own writerly brilliance at that moment.

At 7:00, and with Ryan now nowhere in sight, he ventured ever so reluctantly over to Gates's office. He knocked, and remembered that in the whole time he'd known Captain Montgomery, he'd only seen his office door closed to his team once. He waited a few beats before hearing her almost toneless voice call out "Enter".

"I'm sorry to bother you…I wondered if you knew where Detective Beckett is?"

"Well, considering we're facing down a sadly credible threat of domestic terrorism, I very much hope that Detective Beckett is out there hunting down a lead."

"Yes, of course. I just meant that…"

"Look, Mr Castle, we're all pretty busy here."

"I appreciate that."

"You do?"

"Yes. In fact, I…"

"So we don't have time to babysit writers today. You understand, I'm sure."

He bit back his response, because he knew if he engaged with the she-devil right then, he could wind up kicked off the team for good. It didn't matter that he had a doozy of a retort burning a hole in the tip of his tongue. He ground out another apology and backed out of her office. Just as he turned the door handle, securing the ever-present wooden barrier in place, he smelled Beckett's perfume. She was back. He looked over to her desk, but there was still no sign of her.

She wasn't with Ryan, who had re-appeared and was currently doing his best not to lose it with a smartly dressed man, who, Castle guessed was from Homeland Security or perhaps CDC. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen the detective raise his voice in genuine anger, and so watching him trying to reign in his obvious rage was unsettling. The man in the suit left, and Ryan waited a few seconds before slamming his hand onto the surface of his desk.

"Who was that?" Castle asked, grimacing along in sympathy as the other man rubbed the fleshy underside of his hand.

"Some jerk from Homeland. Man, I'm sick of them breathing down our necks. We know how to investigate…we're not goddamn rookies here!"

"How can I help?"

"Really?"

"Of course."

"It's just grunt work, you know."

"So pass it over."

Ryan handed him a wad of paper. Castle turned the top page round to read.

"Cell numbers?"

"Yeah. We subpoenaed the phone records of some of Gantz's lesser-known associates and I need to go through them."

"What are you hoping to find"?

"Something out of the ordinary, I guess. The FBI already examined Gantz's call lists and those of his immediate family and his inner circle of friends and employees, but came up dry. Now, we're casting the net a little wider."

"You have the timeline there?"

"Yeah. We can place Gantz in the vicinity of his garage at 3:15pm the day before yesterday, so we should focus on incoming or outgoing calls taking place maybe within an hour or two either side of his visit to the garage as a starter. It's a long shot, but something might pop."

Castle sat down on the chair next to Ryan's desk and began to read. He got halfway down the page before he looked over at her desk again.

Ryan caught the action and smiled. "You just missed her. She left to oversee a sweep of one of Gantz's 'businesses' over in Tribeca. Some S&M parlour, I think."

"Sounds like fun."

"She wanted to wait for you, but I wasn't sure where you were, and…"

"That's fine." He tried not to twist his face into a mask of disappointment, but clearly, he hadn't done a very good job.

"You know Gates is coming down hard on her? She's just trying to do her job right now. Especially now."

"I understand. It's not a problem."

Castle smiled and made a show of looking again at the list of numbers on the page in front of him. He was behaving like some lovesick teenager. He hadn't felt this way since high school, and maybe not even then. He didn't chase, not really. The truth was that since getting published, he didn't need to. Women came to him, or else, they were pretty easy to charm. She was different. He could charm her, he knew that, but that would only get him so far. When what he wanted was to pull her in close and hold onto her forever. He wanted her to be his family. He wanted it all.

But he knew she wasn't ready. And until she was, he'd just keep showing up.


	6. Friend or Foe?

**AN: Happy 2012! Sorry I've been gone so long. With thanks to JSQ for the read-through. :) **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Six: Friend or Foe?<strong>

It had been a long time since Kate Beckett had been on the receiving end of orders at a crime scene, or in this case, a potential crime scene. Though, the recent turn of events pointed to the club being in the former category. Just a half hour before she had been in charge. She and Esposito had gone to Gantz's S&M club in Tribeca to check through his office and to question his staff. Two interviews in and the place erupted into a flurry of hurried, purposeful activity. A swarm of agents, some she identified as being FBI, others from what she could gather were from Homeland Security, and CDC techs, burst into the club and ordered her team to hand over all documents and halt their interviews. Initially, she had tried to stall them but it quickly became clear that her investigation into Gantz's affairs was over.

She had decided to take her demotion with good grace, irrespective of the fact that she really didn't have any choice. Of course, it helped knowing that the person now issuing instructions knew what they were doing.

Special Agent Jordan Shaw surveyed the expectant sea of faces lined up in front of her. And it didn't matter that she'd only managed three hours of fitful sleep the night before and had a painfully familiar argument with her husband that morning. It didn't matter that she had promised her daughter that she wouldn't be late home that night, all the while knowing that it was a promise she never should have made. None of that mattered because her job had an uncanny knack of suppressing her personal motivations and needs under a much heavier burden. It wouldn't always be that way. One day, the sacrifices she'd made and those she would be asked to make, and the struggle of being pulled in two different directions would take their toll. She knew that once she reached that point, it would be easy to hand in her badge and gun and walk away. Until then, she would walk the finely balanced line she kept re-drawing every time she felt herself being pulled in two.

She addressed the faces of the cops, agents and scientists. She had never been one for talking for the sake of it, and so she kept it brief, to the point and most importantly: relevant (it was surprising how many of her colleagues, past and present, used such opportunities to grandstand). It was her job to corral into some sort of cohesive structure personnel representing a growing list of invested government agencies now under her command. In addition to directing the efforts of her motley crew and massaging their egos (or flat out stamping all over them as the occasion demanded) she needed to present viable leads to her bosses and work out just how credible the anthrax threat was. If her investigation pointed to the fact that a threat was imminent and potentially large-scale, then, on her advice, the advice of her bosses and their bosses, and the requisite backing of some politicos, the citizens of New York would find their everyday lives turned upside down. Schools would shut, non-emergency surgical procedures put on hold, air-traffic reduced to non-essential journeys, the land-based transport system effectively closed down and business everywhere would have to navigate another hurdle in their continuing battle to turn a profit or just to stay liquid. That was the second worst-case scenario - the first being failure to prevent an attack. Every option leading up to those two, were in her mind, a win. If they could narrow down the target or targets this would be invaluable. Better yet, apprehend and punish the person or persons pulling the strings. The trouble was that aside from this latest lead, they didn't even know what strings were being pulled, let alone being able to identify who was pulling them.

Beckett chipped in with a couple of questions but mostly she just listened. When after a few minutes, Agent Shaw wrapped up the impromptu briefing; she sought the other woman out.

"Agent Shaw."

"Detective Beckett. How are you?"

"I'm good. You?"

"I heard about your shooting of course. I'm glad to see you back at work. And…I also heard about Captain Montgomery. He was a fine detective. You must feel his loss greatly at the 12th."

"Yeah, we do." Just the mention of her former boss's name brought the sting of tears to her eyes. She could only hope they would go unnoticed.

"I only wish we were meeting again under better circumstances."

"Me, too. So you're with DHS now?"

"For nearly two years. I guess I got tired chasing down kidnappers and serials…domestic terrorism is a nice change of pace."

Beckett smiled. It was exactly the kind of sarcastic, throwaway answer she would have given had their roles been reversed. But the truth was of course far more impressive and revealing. The latter was something that Kate also tried to avoid – never show people how much you want to succeed. Never appear too ambitious in what was still a male-dominated environment. Failure to mask or, at the very least, play down your hopes, she had come to understand during the course of her career, left you open to speculation, (and by 'speculation', she meant criticism). Most male bosses didn't appreciate you gunning for their job. Where her male colleagues, some younger than she, were patted on the back for their ambition, their self-belief, she was viewed with suspicion and, sadly in some cases, unabashed derision. It was one thing to be a cop, but something else entirely to tell other cops what to do. She had never really understood why. And since working at the 12th she hadn't given it another thought because she was valued there for what she brought to the job and to the team. The fact that she was a woman was back-story, nothing more.

"Well, despite being pissed at being sidelined here, knowing that you're calling the shots is some consolation."

"Detective Beckett, you and I both know that I couldn't sideline you if I tried. And I don't intend to. I want your input and that of your team, Castle included." Shaw, unable to resist, added with a small smile. "I assume Castle is still following you around? Sorry…that he's still conducting research for his Nikki Heat novels?"

"Castle is still part of the team, yes."

"And that's it…still, after all this time?"

"Yes. That's it."

Shaw held out her hand in apology. "Sorry, it's none of my business."

"It's okay. I get that a lot." Beckett tried to deadpan.

But, honestly…you've never…" This time, Shaw looked down at the pointed toes of her black high-heeled shoes, and shook her head. "Forgive me. Despite doing this job and jobs like it for way too long, I'm still a hopeless romantic. I'll shut-up now."

Beckett, as was usually the case when someone point blank asked her why she and Castle weren't together, didn't quite know what to say, or how to handle the incredulous looks when she told them that their relationship was still that of author and muse. Friendship was also part of the deal, but most people didn't want to hear about that. What was juicy about friendship?

Esposito, who had finished arguing with some men in suits and had made his way over to her, saved her from the awkward silence that had grown in place of conversation. He offered a polite and studiously professional greeting to Agent Shaw. Beckett could sense his continued anger at what she knew was his desperate wish to stay engaged with the case. She quickly put him out of his misery.

"Special Agent Shaw is going to keep us working the case."

"Under direction, of course." Shaw added without a hint of superiority.

"Well that's sumthin, I guess." He mumbled ungraciously. Residual anger lingered for no other reason than he hadn't expected to need to let it go so soon.

"So, give us some time to go through what we've found here and to catch up on your work and that of the FBI, and then I'll be in contact."

"And until then?" Beckett asked, a split second before Esposito asked the same thing.

"Keep doing what you're doing."

"What we were doing was chasing down this lead…the one your people are now boxing up and photographing."

"So find another lead."

"Yeah, just so we can hand it over to you again. First the FBI takes over, and now you guys." Esposito groused.

"We are on the same team, Detective. We want the same thing." Shaw answered, before turning her attention to the ringing cell phone. She listened to whatever the person on the other end of the call was saying and then nodded a quick goodbye to Beckett and Esposito, turned on her heel, and walked away back into the fold of her much better dressed team.

Beckett couldn't help but be impressed. No, inspired, was the more correct description. Shaw was where she wanted to be in ten years time. She had the job and a family, and it wasn't until she met Castle that she realised just how imbalanced her life had become.

…Castle…oh, crap! She told him she would wait for him at the 12th earlier that morning. But as soon as their lead took them somewhere, she had grabbed Esposito, left Ryan wading through phone records, and raced over to Gantz's club.

He was bound to be somewhere sulking. This made her smile. She liked winning him over. She'd call it sport, but that would imply he had a fighting chance against her. Castle was many things: cocky, self-assured, determined…but the one thing they both knew he was, was putty in her hands.

xxx

Castle checked his cell and was relieved to discover that Gina hadn't returned his call. He knew if she were really mad, she would have called to tell him so before now. He and Ryan hadn't found anything of interest in the phone records and so he was thinking about calling it a day when he saw Beckett hurrying into Gates's office. His instinct was to jump up and follow her in there, but he knew better now.

However, after a few minutes, he simply couldn't sit there any longer. He walked over to Gates's office and then slipped past the closed door as slowly as he could without drawing attention to himself. Nothing. He couldn't tell what was going on. Beckett was standing stock still, he assumed listening to whatever it was that the captain was telling her. He walked to the break room, did a circuit of the small room and then retraced his steps. On his third pass of the door, Beckett emerged and he was forced to jog the last couple of steps or risk being caught out.

"Hey, Castle."

"Hey. I was beginning to think you'd ditched me for good."

"We caught a lead and went with it. I waited for as long as I could…I…"

"Of course. I'm kidding. So, anything?"

"Maybe. We don't know yet." Beckett lowered herself into her chair and Castle grabbed the spare seat from Ryan's desk and slid it over to his usual spot next to her.

"How come?"

"DHS have taken over. We and the FBI are now under the direction of Agent Shaw…remember her?"

"Of course. But wasn't Shaw FBI?"

"I guess she got promoted."

"Understandably. You know, I still think she'd make for a compelling character in the Nikki Heat series. I'd call her…um, Agent Jenny McGraw…a celebrated special agent in her late 30's who comes to town and swipes Heat's case from under her nose." His voice raised an octave as he warmed to the story taking shape in his quick and endlessly imaginative mind. Beckett was content this time to sit and listen. She would never tell him so, but this side of him was sexy beyond words. Watching him create a world out of thin air, and then spin it round to examine its flaws and possibilities before translating his imaginings onto the page was amazing to her.

"I can't decide if she's friend or foe to Heat. The latter offers room for conflict, biting dialogue, but the former is the more intriguing angle. Of course, she'll also be hot for Rook, and this…"

"Okay, enough! Imagine your next story on your own time; I have work to do. You know, _real_ work."

"First you ditch me for most of the day, after calling me at some ungodly hour and asking me to get my ass down here, and now this! You wound me, Detective. But I suspect that was rather the point."

"Perhaps. Want me to make it all better?"

Not only did his breath seem to leave his body in that instant but he also lost the power of thought. So he didn't offer a retort, or, as he intended, take her up on her offer. Instead, he sat there and gawped at her. He continued his helpless impersonation of a fish and watched as she smiled a knowing smile and started tapping away on her keyboard.


	7. Bigger and Badder

**AN: As is becoming clear, I'm sure, I'm not the quickest when it comes to updating. But I WILL update. **

**My thanks to JSQ for the read-through.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seven: Bigger and Badder<strong>

As it turned out, the team at the 12th didn't have to wait long to find out that the potential lead they had uncovered at Gantz's club had dead-ended. The reference to a "Mr Miller" in some of the transactions the club had entered into with a repeat supplier took them to the door of a legitimate business, run by a Louis Miller, which provided special effects lighting to the club.

Beckett put down the receiver, and shook her head.

"What? Nothing?" Ryan asked as he rocked back on his heels and ran his hand through his hair.

"Shaw says "no". The Miller in the accounts isn't the same one who paid off Gantz. It's coincidence, nothing more."

"So we're still nowhere, and unless Shaw gives us the go-ahead to get our thumbs out of our asses, we're gonna stay nowhere. Geez, this is bullshit!" Esposito cursed and went back to his desk, his partner quickly following suit.

Beckett tamped down her own frustrations by jumping to her feet and going in search of coffee. As she was steaming the milk, she felt him at her side. She didn't look up, just sighed, and continued to hold the stainless steel milk jug in place. Seconds passed. She knew he was struggling, uncharacteristically, for something to say - something that would buck-up her spirits.

Eventually, he spoke. "So, the studio in L.A. sent me over a rough cut of "Naked Heat".

"Are faux Ryan and Esposito still as creepy?"

"More so, actually. But I've only seen the first few minutes. I thought maybe you'd like to come over and watch with me?"

"Hmm, won't that be a little…now, how did you once describe it… 'Meta'?"

"You think?"

"Well, Castle – its me watching me, sort of…and I'll be watching with you, the you that invented the 'me' on the screen."

"Well when you say it in those terms."

"Besides, I'll probably be here, working late."

"But didn't you just say that your lead dead-ended?"

"Yes. But just because we've drawn a blank on Gantz, doesn't mean that my other cases have disappeared off the face of the earth. I've got a mountain of paperwork to get through."

"Okay. Understood. Maybe another time?"

He looked disappointed, and she felt compelled to offer him something. Because the truth was she was disappointed, too. She wanted nothing more than to follow him home, order in takeout from that ridiculously expensive Japanese place he loved and curl up on his sofa. But she wasn't ready. Once the thought of telling him how she felt and telling him that she knew how he felt about her didn't fill her with anxiety, she would take that leap. For now, she was tethered to her fear, her inability to foresee a happy ending, but she had faith that it wouldn't always be that way.

"Yeah, Castle, some other time. I promise." She swayed to her right a little and knocked her hip against his side.

He looked at her out the corner of his eye, as he placed his own cup on the drip tray and hit the 'espresso' button, but said nothing. But she caught his smile, and for now that was enough.

Together, they walked back over to her desk. He sat off to the side of her, like always, and they sipped their coffee and talked over some of the other cases currently taking up room in her in-tray. At just after six pm, he left for home and Beckett stayed on until nine. Just as she was opening the door to her car, her cell vibrated and sang.

"Beckett." She said as she inserted her key into the door lock.

"Girl, tell me you're free this evening?"

"Lanie?"

"Well?"

"Um, sure…I mean, I was about to head on home."

"Beckett, I'm in need of some girl talk and a big plate of fries – can we meet at Remy's?"

Beckett really didn't want to. But she told her friend that she'd be there in twenty minutes. She pulled out of the precinct's parking garage and turned left instead of right when she reached the exit. All the way the way over to the restaurant, she wondered what had caused Lanie's voice to take on that pleading tone. A tone she'd never heard before. She believed the answer might take the form another of her friends – Esposito. And if it did, well then, this had the potential to get messy. Unlike Castle, she abhorred gossip, avoided conversation on the 'down low' and generally liked to communicate face-to-face, not via a third party. She knew Lanie wouldn't mean to put her in the middle, but that's just where she'd end up. And she hated that.

She found Lanie sitting at the bar. A large glass of red wine sat within her grasp, but from what Kate could see, the other woman hadn't touched it. This was going to be worse than she feared. Lanie was a cocktail drinker. She only drank wine when she was upset, or when there wasn't anything else on offer. She slid onto the bar stool next to her and raised her hand as the bartender turned to look her way.

"Thanks for coming, Beckett."

"No problem. I could use something to eat anyway. So, what's up?"

"It's him."

"Espo?"

"Yeah."

The bartender had finished ringing up another order and made his way over to them. Beckett ordered a white wine spritzer – needing the taste of alcohol, but wanting to limit her actual intake. She'd probably be driving them both home after.

"When it was good, it was better than it's ever been with anyone else. I think he feels the same way in that respect. But when things started to fray around the edges, we buckled big time…then we ran in opposite directions."

"And now?"

"And now I'm left remembering everything that was good, and it's driving me crazy. God, that man knew women. He knew…ugh, he knew just what to do and together we were amazing. And it wasn't just the sex that was good, we connected, we had fun."

Beckett shifted around in her seat because images of a shirtless Esposito floated around in her mind and she really wanted them gone. She wasn't blind - her fellow detective walked around with a certain knowing twinkle in his eye, and maybe if she wasn't his superior, and there was no job to worry about and no Castle to contend with, she might be tempted to maybe…maybe go there. But all those factors were in place, and so the last thing she wanted was to be having this conversation about her friend and colleague.

"Well maybe you two should talk. If there's something there, it has to be worth fighting for."

"That's what I'm thinking…so, you think I should speak to him?"

"I think if you want to see if you two can be a couple, then you need to speak to him. But maybe you both need to be honest with yourselves – do you want another fling, or do you want to build a relationship around the attraction that you obviously feel for one another."

"That's good advice. Hey, you're good at this." Lanie smiled and pushed her own wine glass off to the side. "I'll never know why people rave about wine. It's dry and frankly awful tasting."

Beckett grinned, mostly at the compliment she'd received, and again caught the bartender's eye. It wasn't difficult; he'd been checking her out since she sat down. She order Lanie's favourite: a Blue Hawaiian, and the two women slid as gracefully as they could manage off their barstools and found a table in the dimly lit restaurant area.

Three hours later, they asked their waiter if he could call them a cab. Lanie had parked in the lot at the back and Beckett would have to leave her car parked on the street outside. The cool late night air hit them as soon as they stepped outside, and they rushed over to the taxi and jumped in. Lanie's place was closest, so they headed there first.

"Thanks, Beckett. It's been too long since we did this. Actually, I'm not sure if we ever did 'this', but it's been fun and it's been great to get all this Esposito stuff off my chest."

"I had fun, too. You're right; we definitely need to do this more. I'll see you in the morning?"

"Probably not until the afternoon. I've got a couple of John Doe's I need to work on first. But I'll be by to attend Agent Shaw's briefing. I may not have anything to do at the moment regards the Gant'z case, but she's keen to keep all of us in the loop. Gotta say, I like her style."

"Yeah, Shaw's one of the good ones."

"So you aren't still pissed to be toppled as lead investigator?"

"I wouldn't go that far."

Lanie smiled at her honest response and jammed a wad of money in her hand. "This should cover the fare here and then back to your place."

Beckett knew better than to argue. She asked the driver to wait until her friend had climbed the few steps to her front door and then closed it behind her. Then they pulled back into the still steady stream of traffic. _"Your place"_ - the truth was that she didn't have a 'place' anymore. The hotel she now called home wasn't home, and her job kept getting in the way of her efforts to find a more permanent arrangement. Right now, all she wanted was her own furniture around her, her own bed, her own sheets and duvet cover. She could have all that, of course, but that would mean spending the night in a storage container downtown, and well that wasn't appealing either. She bet Castle had the best bed. His sheets were probably handmade by elves and his duvet made of clouds. Her head rested back against the headrest and the inside of the cab spun a little. She could probably lie horizontally on his bed and both her head and feet would still be miles from the edge. _Castle's bed…mmm. Castle. A bed... A bed and Castle._

"Ma'am, we're here. Ma'am?"

Shit! She sat bolt upright, muttered an apology and passed over all the money Lanie had given her. She didn't even count it. "Does that cover it?"

"It more than covers it. But, here, let me give you some change. This is too much…way too much."

She got out of the car and walked around to the driver's door. Most of the money she had handed over was handed back to her. "Thanks, she said as she noticed a $50 dollar bill in amongst some tens. That's honest of you."

"No problem. Besides, I can spot a cop a mile off."

Beckett tapped the roof of the car twice and then walked around and stepped up onto the sidewalk. She dug inside her purse for her key card and then navigated the revolving door of her not home. The kid manning the small reception desk looked up briefly from his magazine but on seeing her, he looked down again. She decided to take the stairs up to her room instead of riding the elevator. The cool air in the stairwell would do her good. God, she and Lanie had drunk way too much. The sound of her toes and then substantial heel against the metal staircase echoed around the enclosed square funnel. _Tap. Bang. Tap. Bang._

Exiting on the fourth floor, the sound of her footsteps died as she walked down the carpeted hallway to her room. Her hotel room smelled funny, and she sighed as she remembered that she'd forgotten to empty the small bin by the side of the desk. The half-eaten breakfast burrito inside was doing its best to stink up the place. She walked over and bent down, tying the two ends of the plastic bag in the bin together and then placing it in the bath, ready to be ditched in the morning. Then she brushed her teeth, twice. She stripped where she stood, leaving only her bra and underwear on. The rectangular dressing was still in place. She knew she should clean the almost healed wound, but she lacked the hand-eye coordination to do it. Turning off the bathroom light, she padded barefoot into the bedroom come living room, and slid into bed. Remembering to set the alarm on her cell phone, she then closed her eyes and fell into a dreamless sleep.

…Four hours later – 4:40am: she awoke to the sound of her cell phone ringing. Thinking it was the alarm; she slid the comforter over her head and turned over. But the sound didn't stop, even when she reached for the phone and pressed the function button to set it to snooze mode. Finally, the ringing stopped, and she fell right back to sleep. But then the noise came again. And again.

"Beckett", she practically growled into the phone.

"Yo! What kept you?"

"Espo?"

"Yeah."

"What's up?"

"We're down at Port Newark. Shaw's guys found some more of that stuff Gantz had in his lock up."

"The container port? Um, how much more?" She said as she struggled to sit up.

"Enough to convince everyone here and up at City Hall that this thing is bigger and badder than we thought."

"Where'd they find it?"

"In one of the shipping containers which arrived overnight."

"From where?"

"Germany."

"Shit! I'll call Castle and we'll meet you over there."

"Writer Boy is already here. We've been calling you for like an hour!"

She mumbled a brief apology and hung up. The room spun as she climbed out of bed and willed herself into believing that she could be vertical again. She walked on unsteady legs to the bathroom, which now also reeked of spicy tomato sauce and onion, and cleaned her teeth. She could have done without the dry heaving as she tried to run the toothbrush over her bone-dry teeth and tongue, but she had a feeling that today just wasn't going to be her day.

All in all, it took her twenty long minutes to get herself showered and dressed. She rode the elevator all the way down to the parking garage before she remembered that she'd abandoned her car near Remy's. Not only was she likely to have picked up several parking fines by now, but also she'd be lucky if the damn thing was even there by the time she arrived to collect it. And so it was approaching 7am by the time she made it through the defensive line of Port Authority security guards, cops, and government agency suits and located her team. Or, more accurately put, Agent Shaw's team.

She could feel the tension in the air all around her as CDC techs suited-up and ducked back inside the hermetically sealed red shipping container. Even Shaw looked unsettled. Beckett understood – sometimes all the training and on-the-job experience can't prepare you for the moment when you stare evil in the face. She had, of course, encountered evil before during her successful time at the FBI – but such indiscriminate hatred on this scale? Beckett doubted it. Her gaze wandered to take in the image of Castle standing two people over, listening intently to the instructions falling from Shaw's lips. She was about to look away, to direct her attention to where it should be, but then he looked right at her. He looked sad and scared, but he smiled a greeting anyway. She smiled back.

Agent Shaw finished her briefing, and within seconds, men and women, beat cops and agents, techs and dog-handlers fanned out and disappeared amongst the rows upon rows of different coloured storage containers that stretched as far as the eye could see. Shaw gave a brief nod to Beckett and then was carried away on a sea of black suits to the command post, which was still in the process of being set up.

"You know this port is the second busiest in the world, right?" Esposito said as he, Ryan and Castle approached her.

"Nope. God, this place is huge!" She said, the enormity of the task on their hands just now sinking in.

"It's also one of the most high-risk terrorist targets in the US." Ryan added.

"And the Germany connection…where are we on that?"

"Well according to the Port Authority guys, the largest volume of imports comes in from Germany. So it may not mean anything. Espo and I don't think this threat originated overseas, just that maybe our guy pulling the strings decided to mix it up a little, set the hares running, you know?"

"What's to say our guy doesn't have friends abroad who support his cause, or maybe he went to Germany and loaded the shit into the container himself." Esposito followed-up, all the while his partner was nodding in agreement.

"So, for now, we're still nowhere?" Beckett sighed, squinting against the early morning sun, which just about peeked over the top of the mountain of containers all around them.

"All we know is that things just got a whole lot worse." Ryan summed up, as silence fell over them.


End file.
